


Juxtaposition

by cerie



Category: Sanctuary - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-26
Updated: 2011-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:26:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/pseuds/cerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Oxoniensis' Porn Battle XI.  Prompt was "silk slip."  Warnings for D/s and power exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Juxtaposition

“Kneel.”

The word is crisp in the darkened room and Helen slides to her knees, wincing at the creak of the floorboards and the scrape of her rug against her bare skin. She supposed, if she were inclined to be analytical, that this sort of thing is completely and utterly degrading but that is a very uninformed opinion.

Truthfully, she asks for this. When the pressure mounts, when she has meeting after meeting and negotiations fail. When she can’t do anything right. That’s when she asks for this and Will arches his brow and takes the reins. It’s never about controlling the network or taking advantage of her public persona, oh no. It’s always about the private, about the consensual power exchange.

Helen watches as he circles her slowly, erection jutting out proudly and hands fisted in a blue silk negligee. She had been wearing it for him when he came to her room and while he had smiled, he’d ordered it off almost immediately. It’s a rule infraction to be dressed, even that loose definition of dressed, and Helen will need to be punished for it.

“This isn’t allowed,” he says lowly, dangerously, and Helen feels the first tremors of anticipation skipping down her spine. Will circles her like a tiger stalking his prey, words disinterested and cold in contrast to the gentle hand against her face, smoothing back one wayward strand of hair. Helen shivers a little; Will has always been a master of juxtaposition and in this most intimate of situations, it always undoes her.

Her head tips down a little more, eyes fixed on the pattern of her rug.

“I know, sir.”

It’s always sir here, in this situation, and while Will had been shocked the first time and nearly broken the scene he’s used to it now, requires it now. He knots his hand in her thick hair just above the nape of her neck, tipping her head back up so she’s watching him again. He doesn’t like it when she takes her eyes off him, not in this situation, and Helen has to wonder if he gets disappointed in her when she can’t follow the rules. She’s so very bad at it sometimes.

“What am I going to do with you, Helen?”

He keeps his hand threaded in her hair, keeping her face tipped up as he moves his other hand, wrapped in her negligee, to his cock. His strokes are lazy, teasing, and the silk makes a little rustling sound as it slides up and down his length. It’s soft, all her things are soft, and Helen can’t help but let a little whimper escape when she sees his eyes drift shut and the first drops of hot come splash against her neck and chest. This is her punishment, she supposes, for coming to him dressed.

He seems satisfied with that as an outcome, loosening the hand in her hair and shifting to help her stand up. He’s quiet now, he’s always quiet after they play this way, and Helen feels like it’s his way of letting Will drift back in after he’d locked him away to play the scene. His hands are deft and gentle as he cleans her skin, leaving her clean and dry and very well cared for. He combs out her hair until it gleams and squeezes her shoulders before leaving her to turn down the blankets on her bed.

That done, he escorts her there and tucks her in, the harsh disapproval from earlier put away and replaced with a tenderness that very nearly breaks her heart.

She thinks it’s the after that’s more cruel by far.


End file.
